


A New Recriut

by west_of_eden



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/west_of_eden/pseuds/west_of_eden
Summary: Ezio welcomes a new recruit.





	A New Recriut

Ezio Auditore dismounted his horse near the house he resided in. It wasn't actually a house, rather a re-purposed warehouse converted to a living space. A person wouldn't know by looking at it that it was the hub of a resistance movement against the Borgia. He scratched the neck of his black stallion. Spain bred better horses than popes he thought handing the reins to a groom. He crossed the street and climbed the stairs to the house. He opened the heavy wood door and entered the building.

He acknowledged the respectful bows from the assassins nearby with a polite nod as he made his way to the armory. Ezio was met by an eager boy of twelve, who stood as tall as Ezio's shoulder, with short blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a white, short sleeved-shirt over black pants which tied at the waist and ankles. His face lit up when Ezio entered the room.

Ezio smiled as he sat down on a stool. “Juanito, help me get this armor off.”

Juanito nodded and started to undo the back buckles.

Ezio remembered the day he met Juanito. He had just recruited his sister, Isabella, into the Order after helping her fight off a group of guards. She told Ezio that their father had been a soldier in the Borgia army and their mother had accompanied him as a camp follower. Their father died in battle and their mother died of disease. The two children were left to fend for themselves on the streets of Rome. Isabella learned to steal so that they could eat, which had drawn the attention of the guards.

Ezio reached down to remove his greaves and felt his hands gently brushed away. Juanito quickly removed them and then carried them over to the long, sturdy wooden table situated under three windows, opened to let air and light into the room. He set them next to the other pieces of armor he had already removed. Juanito returned to Ezio and removed his vambraces, but not the hidden blades. He knew he wasn't to touch them. Juanito took the vambraces to the table and set about cleaning the armor.

Ezio stood up feeling lighter, but also stiff and sore from his ride.

“I will have these ready for you tomorrow, signore,” Juanito informed as he cleaned.

“Thank you,” Ezio replied as he hung up his sword and dagger on a large rack. “Do not neglect your studies. Your instructor tells me you are making fine progress.”

“I will not,” Juanito promised. He was being trained as an Assassin as well.

“Good,” Ezio said as he left. He made his way to the bathing room.

The room wasn't too far from the armory, down a short hall and a small flight of steps. Ezio opened the door the room which wasn't brightly lit, even though the windows were open. A copper tub with one end of the tub was taller than the other sat in the middle of the room. It was lined with a white cloth, and filled with water. Ezio smelled roses as he drew near, knowing rose oil had been added to the water along with rose petals. He peeled off his clothes and laid them on the table just behind the tub, putting his hidden blades on another table. He slid into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief as he did. It felt wonderful to get the dirt and grime of the road off of him.

A young woman slipped quietly into the room to gather Ezio's clothes. She had once worked at the Rosa in Fiore, until she had contracted the “French Disease”. Instead of putting her on the street, she was allowed to work at the house as a washerwoman. She glanced at Ezio before taking his clothes, laying a linen dressing gown on the table, and leaving the room.

Ezio had heard her come and go. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift to simpler, less complicated times.

 

 

Niccolò Machiavelli sat behind an ornate wooden desk, dressed in a white shirt and black hose. A large book laid open in front of him. In it Machiavelli documented and commented on the events of the day, hoping it would help later generations of Assassins understand what happened in Rome at this time. He hoped it might be a guide book for the Brotherhood. Machiavelli looked up when he heard the door open and saw Ezio walk in, dressed as the Florentine noble he used to be, wearing a white linen shirt open at the neck with the laces of his sleeves dangling untied and black silk hose. On his feet were leather shoes. His black hair brushed the collar of his shirt, instead of being tied back with his usual red, silk ribbon. Machiavelli stood up and went over to a small table which held a round wine flask and four short glasses. He poured wine into two of them, handing one to Ezio after he had sat down in one of the chairs near the desk.

“How was the mission?” Machiavelli asked, retaking his own seat.

“Successful,” Ezio said after a sip of wine. “The wagons were right where the informants said they would be, with barrels filled with gold covered with salt.”

“And the recruits?”

“They performed admirably. Isabella is becoming a fine Assassin, lithe, agile, and deadly with a blade.”

Machiavelli heard the pride in his voice. “A tally will be taken and given to you.”

Ezio nodded. Looting from the Borgia was one of the ways they filled the coffers, along with the profits from the Rosa in Fiore. “What did you learn from the informant? The one we discovered before the mission.”

“He confirmed what we already knew, that there are others,” Machiavelli told him.

“Like the one La Volpe found?”

“And killed,” he reminded his friend. “What are you going to do with this one?”

“Kill him? We learned what he knew from the messages we intercepted,” Ezio suggested. He saw a look of disgust pass over Machiavelli's face. “This has to be done.”

“I realize that. It is just…”

“Necessary. It is necessary,” Ezio told him.

“I will see that it is carried out,” Machiavelli told him.

“I need to check on the other Assassins and the missions they were sent on,” Ezio said as he stood.

“Of course,” Machiavelli said as he got to his feet and watched as his friend left. He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and went to the door as well. He needed to make a tally of the gold they had taken.

 

 

The Assassins gather in the evening for dinner. The time was usually used to discuss the mundane happenings of the day. This day was different, there were exploits to be told.

Machiavelli listened to the boasting, the bragging, and the exaggerations from those who took part in the heist. He knew conversations accompanied by food and plenty of wine aided in building camaraderie and bonds which would aid them when it came time to fight as a group. Machiavelli looked over at Ezio. He didn't smile as the others spoke. He did, however, look proud. Machiavelli didn't believe that recruiting people into the Brotherhood would work; he now realized he was wrong. He saw Ezio stand up.

Ezio motioned the others to remain seated. “Please continue,” he implored them.

Machiavelli knew he was headed to his room. Ezio looked exhausted.

 

 

Ezio made his way to his room in the fading light. He peeled off his clothes and draped them over a chair once he reached the room, then slipped between the sheets, letting his body sink into the bed. He wasn't old, but he wasn't young either and events of the day had left him bone tired. Within minutes, he was asleep.

 

 

“Ezio!”

He could hear Cristina calling his name, her voice echoing off the buildings of Florence.

“Ezio!”

He ran toward her voice, down the narrow, winding streets and over rooftops, avoiding or outrunning guards and archers.

“Ezio!”

He ran faster, doing his best to dodge pedestrians in front of him.

“Ezio!”

He quickly climbed a tower to get a better view. He stood on the ledge and looked down into an abyss.

“Ezio!”

He didn't think. He leapt, free falling into the darkness.

“ _Ezio…”_

His body seemed to hit the bed as his eyes snapped open. Ezio sat up and rubbed his face then dragged his hands through his hair. He hadn't heard from Cristina since he left Florence twenty years ago. Ezio had sent a letter telling her where he was and that it would be best if they parted ways. It was the only way he knew to keep her out of this conflict between the Assassin's and the Templars. It was the only way he knew to keep her safe, since he was in no position to protect her.

Ezio looked out the window and saw the first rays of dawn stretching across the sky. He got out of bed and put on his clothes, adding a quilted, black silk doublet over his shirt. Ezio left his room and made his way out of the building leaving behind all of his weapons. Ezio had never felt so naked. He walked along, blending into the crowds as he did.

 

 

“Ezio, where have you been?” Machiavelli asked as Ezio entered.

“I went for a walk to clear my head,” he replied as he stopped in front of his friend.

“There is someone here to see you. You should read this first, though,” Machiavelli said as he pressed a letter into Ezio's hand.

Ezio looked at it and recognized the handwriting. He took a deep breath before he opened it.

 

 

_Ezio,_

 

_Do you remember that night? That wonderful night before everything changed? I was pledged to marry Pietro, but you beguiled your way into my bed. I was soon married to Pietro, thankfully, as I was already with child. Your child._

_Everyone thought he was early, but I knew he was late. I could not name him Ezio, so I gave him your father's name, Giovanni. He now wants to join the fight against the Borgia. I knew of no better person to send him to than you._

 

_Cristina_

 

 

Ezio handed the letter back to Machiavelli as he headed for his office.

“Ezio, wait…,” Machiavelli said as he tried to grab Ezio's arm.

Ezio shook off his friend's hand and opened the door and came face to face with a twenty-year-old version of himself. The younger man bowed. Ezio went to him and clasped his shoulders before cupping the man's face in his hands. He saw Cristina in his eyes. Ezio let go and took a step back. “Giovanni?”

“Father,” Giovanni said as he bowed again.

Ezio was at a loss for words.

“Mother told me about you when she thought I was old enough, even though I already knew. My sword master told me. His father trained your's,” Giovanni explained.

“Your mother said you want to fight the Borgia, is that true?” Ezio asked.

“Yes, as an Assassin,” he replied.

“How do you know I am an Assassin?”

“My sword master told me that as well.”

Ezio looked away. He thought about all he had been through over the last twenty years. He now understood why his father had never told Ezio about being an Assassin. He didn't want his sons to follow him. He didn't want them to experience the horrors he had. He looked back at Giovanni and wondered if he had looked like that at the same age, eager to join the fight without truly understanding what it really meant. Ezio turned to the door and called out, “Niccolò!”

Machiavelli rushed in. “Yes?”

“This is our newest recruit, Giovanni…,” Ezio started.

“Vespucci,” his son finished.

Ezio frowned.

“Pietro disowned me when he found out that I was your son, not his,” Giovanni explained.

“This is your son?” Machiavelli asked, startled to hear the news.

“Yes, he is,” Ezio admitted. He looked at Giovanni. “What about your mother?”

“My brothers will protect her. They were trained along with me, although our sword master knew I was an Auditore.”

“How?” Machiavelli asked.

“He said I moved and fought like one.”

Ezio smiled. “You will be treated like any other recruit. Do not expect any preferential treatment.”

“I will not, sir,” Giovanni said with a bow.

“Your father is the Mentor, the leader of the Assassins. You address him as Mentor,” Machiavelli informed him.

He nodded. “I will not, Mentor.”

Ezio looked at Machiavelli. “Take Giovanni to Augusto and let him know he has a new initiate.”

“Mentor,” Machiavelli said, then led Giovanni from the room.

Ezio took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A feeling spread over him he had not felt in years, joy. He received two pieces of good news, Cristina was still alive and he had a son.


End file.
